o  I O 


GYPSY   VERSES 


Gypsy  Verses 


By 

HELEN   HAY   WHITNEY 


AUTHOR    OF 
"Some  Verses,"   "The  Bed  Time  Book." 


NEW  YORK 

Duffield  &  Company 

1907 


COPYRIGHT,  1907,  BY 
DUFFIELD    &    COMPANY 


Published  October,  1907 


Co 
G.    V.  W. 

because  she  is  my  friend 


272255 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

ATARAH  ......         3 

AGE        .......         4 

LOVE  AND  DAWN 5 

L'AMOUR  AMBIGUEUX      ....  6 

SAPPHICS     .           .....  7 

SATAN,  PRINCE  OF  DARKNESS  ...  8 

IN  PRISON     ......  9 

GHOSTS              .              .  .  .  .  .10 

LILIS 11 

THE    OLD   WOMEN     .  .  .  .  .12 

TO  HIPPOLYTUS         .  .  .  .  .13 

THE  GARDEN  HEDGE  .  .  .  .14 

THE   SLAVE   WOMAN  .  .  .  .15 

SONG  16 

SANS-JOY         .             .  .  .  .  .17 

OUT  OF  THE   JUNGLE  .  .  .  .18 

IN   PORT           .             .  .  .  .  .19 

SONNY   BOY    .             .  .  .  .  .21 

SUNRISE           .             .  .  .  .  .22 

DEAD  LADIES               .  .  .  .  .24 

vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

WHEN    TRISTAN    SAILED    .  .  .  .25 

THE    BATTLE  .  .  .  .  .27 

RECOMPENSE 28 

THE  LOTUS  EATERS  .  .  .  .29 

LOST  APHRODITE       .  .  .  .  .30 

THE    FOOLS     .  .  .  .  .  .32 

THE    AWAKENING    .  .  .  .  .33 

THE  DARK  WOMAN  .  .  .  .34 

SUMMER  SONG  .  .  .  .  .35 

SERAPHIS         .  .  .  .  .  .36 

VENGEMENT  .  .  .  .  .37 

AUTUMN  LOVE  .  .  .  .  .38 

THE    WITCH 40 

THE  MAN 42 

DOWN  IN  MALDONADO  TOWN      .  .  .43 

THE   CHOICE  .  .  .  .  .45 

THE   BROOK    .  .  .  .  .  .46 

AT  THE  END  OF  THE  WORLD      .  .  .47 

THE    GYPSY     .  .  .  .  .  .48 

BOY  0?  DREAMS         .  .  .  .  .49 

BALLAD  OF  THE  SLAVE        .  .  .  .51 

FOAM 53 

THE  SEAL 54 

RELEASE 55 

SIN,  THE  SWORD 56 

Viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 
FANTASTIC  SPRING  .  .  .  .57 

SONG 58 

CONTRAST        .  .  .  .  .  .59 

THE    PRICE     .  .  .  .  .  .60 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER    .  .  .  .61 

LAIS       .......       62 

THE    HERITAGE          .  .  .  .  .63 

THE   MONK   IN   HIS    GARDEN       .  .  .64 

BIANCA  .  .  .  .  .  .65 

FREE        .  .  .  .  .  .66 

BLACK  AND  GOLD      .  .  .  .  .67 

THE    ANSWER 68 

PEACE  .  .  .  .  .  .69 

BARNABAS        .  .  .  .  .  .70 

LOST  DREAMS  .  .  .  .  .71 

LADY  OF  LIGHT         .  .  .  .  .72 

SONG 73 

THE   GYPSY   BLOOD  .  .  .  .74 

AND  YET          .  .  ' .  .  .  .75 

THRO'   THE   PLEACHED   ALLEYS  .  .76 

.*.  Acknowledgment  is  made  to  Messrs.  Harper  and 
Brothers,  the  Century  Company,  and  the  Metropolitan 
Magazine  for  courteous  permission  to  reproduce  certain 
of  the  verses  included  in  this  volume. 

ix 


GYPSY    VERSES 


Oh,  you  were  not  so  idlt 

You  wore  a  sprig  of  green; 
You  wore  a  feather  in  your  cap, 

The  reddest  ever  seen. 

Your  face  was  laughing  gypsy  brown, 
Your  eyes  were  of  the  blue; 

You  wandered  up  and  down  the  world, 
For  you  had  much  to  do. 

For  oh,  you  were  not  idle, 
Whatever  men  might  say — 

You  made  the  colour  of  the  year 
Magnificent  and  gay. 


ATARAH 

WITH  painted  slender  folded  hands 
She  waited  what  might  come, 

Her  head  was  tyred  with  jewelled  bands, 
Her  mouth  was  sweet  and  dumb. 

Her  cymar  was  of  ardassine, 
Fire  red  from  throat  to  hem, 

Broidered  with  Turkis  stones  therein — 
She  gave  her  soul  for  them. 

Faint  cassia  and  love-haunted  myrrh 

Made  perilous  her  hair, 
And  what  was  Sidon's  woe  to  her 

Whose  face  was  king's  despair? 

Nor  life  nor  love  from  those  cold  lips, 

But  ah,  in  what  degree, 
Her  passionate  lover  leans  and  sips 

Her  death-bright  poesy. 


AGE 

BLINDNESS,  and  women  wailing  on  white  seas, 
Seas  where  no  placid  sails  have  ever  been, 
Dreams  like  wan  demons  on  waste  marshes 
seen 

Thro'  dulling,  fevered  eyes.     The  dregs  and  lees 

Of  wine  long  spilt  to  dead  divinities. 

Grey,  empty  days  when  Spring  is  never  green, 
Can   the   heart   answer   what   these   riddles 
mean — • 

Can  the  life  hold  such  hopelessness  as  these? 

Love  lying  low  in  the  long  pleasant  grass, 

Youth  with  his  eager  face  against  the  sun, 
They  may  not  guess  the  hours  when  these  shall 
pass, 

In  what  drear  coin  such  lovely  dreams  are  paid, 
At  what  grim  cost  their  flowery  days  are  won, 
When  man  is  old  and  lonely  and  afraid. 


LOVE  AND  DAWN 

DAWN  shaking  long  light  pennons  in  the  East — 

Is  love  the  least 
And  love  the  greatest  of  the  morning's  woes? 

See  how  the  rose 
Breaks  in  a  hundred  petals  down  the  sky. 

Darkness  must  die, 
And  in  the  heart,  where  flutters  sad  desire, 

Wakes  the  new  fire 
Silver  and  azure  of  the  open  day. 

So,  grief,  away ! 

We  will  be  glad  with  flagons,  drown  old  pain, 
And  Dawn  shall  bring  us  to  her  own  again. 


L'AMOUK  AMBIGUEUX 

You  are  the  dreams  we  do  not  dare  to  dream, 
The  dim  florescence  of  a  mystic  rose, 
In  poverty  or  pride  love  comes  and  goes, 
We  do  not  question  what  the  deeps  may  seem 
Launched  on  the  steady  current  of  the  stream. 
Gaily  and  hardily  we  hear  the  prose; 
In  youth,  red  sun,  in  age  the  charnel  snows. 
Nor  see  the  banks  where  subtle  flowers  gleam, 
In  green  sweet  beds  of  moly  and  of  thyme 
Wild  as  an  errant  fancy.     All  the  while 
We  know  you,  mystic  rose;  we  know  your 

smile, 
Your  deep,   still  eyes,  your  fragrant  floating 

hair, 

The  peacock  purple  of  the  gown  you  wear, 
0  lyric  alchemist  of  rune  and  rhyme ! 


SAPPHICS 

LEAVE  the  Vine,  Ah  Love,  and  the  wreath  of 

myrtle, 

Leave  the  Song,  to  die,  on  the  lips  of  laughter, 
Come,  for  love  is  faint  with  the  choric  measure, 
Weary  of  waiting. 

Down  the  sky  in  lines  of  pellucid  amber 
Blows  the  hair  of  her  whom  the  gods  have  treas 
ured, 

Fair,  more  fair  is  mine  in  the  ring  of  maidens, 
Mine  for  the  taking. 


SATAN,  PEINCE 
OF  DAKKNESS 

I  SINNED,  but  gloriously.     I  bore  the  fall 

From  Heaven's  high  places  as  becomes  a  king. 

I  did  not  shrink  before  the  utmost  sting 
Of  torture  or  of  banishment.     The  pall 
Of  Dis,  I  cried,  should  be  the  hall 

Where  sad  proud  men  of  men  should  meet 
and  sing 

The  woes  of  that  defeat  ambitions  bring 
Hurled  from  the  last  vain  fight  against  the  wall. 

I  thought  I  had  been  punished.  To  forego 
All  lovely  sights,  the  whisper  of  fresh  rain, 
To  brood  forever  endlessly  on  pain 

Yet  still  a  Prince,  Ah    God,  I  dreamed, — and 

then 
I  learned  my  Fate,  this  wandering  to  and  fro 

In  Devil's  work  among  the  sons  of  men. 


IN  PRISON 

ABOVE  her  task  the  long  year  through 
She  works  with  steady  hands, 

The  while  her  heart  is  tired  with  dreams 
Which  no  man  understands. 

For  long  and  long  ago  she  knew 

Green  trees  and  open  sky, 
Before  the  law  condemned  her  days 

To  doom  until  she  die. 

And  so  she  dreams  in  mystic  peace, 

Indifferent  to  the  scene, 
Because  her  heart  retains  and  knows 

The  little  stain  of  green. 


GHOSTS 

THE  long  lost  lights  of  love  I  know, 
They  thrill  from  ultimate  space,  they  blow 
Like  small  bewildered  stars,  tossed  high 
On  some  unknown  and  passionate  sky. 

I  know  them  for  the  loved  lost  lights 
That  made  the  glamour  of  my  nights 
Long,  long  ago,  and  now  I  fear 
Their  coming,  and  the  garb  they  wear. 

For  they  are  very  white  and  cold, 
They  are  not  coloured  as  of  old, 
In  trailing  radiance,  rose  and  red, 
For  these  are  ghosts,  and  they  are  dead. 


10 


LILIS 

WE  have  forgiven  you  because  you  are  so  fair, 
Eloquent  by  virtue  of  your  dark  enchanting 

eyes, 
Evil  to  your  heart  of  hearts,  shall  we  blame  or 

care, 

You  are  very  beautiful,  and  love  has  made 
you  wise. 

With  a  splendid  insolence  you  exist  to  sin, 
Scorn  us  for  the  weaknesses  that  bring  us  to 

our  pain. 
Weak  you  are  and  false  you  are  and  never  may 

we  win, 

Yet  we  have  forgiven  you,  and  shall  forgive 
again. 


11 


THE  OLD 
WOMEN 

WE  are  very,  very  old, 
We  have  had  our  day, 

So  we  bend  above  our  work 
While  the  others  play. 

Do  they  call  us  women,  we 
Gaunt  and  grey  and  grim, 

Hideous  and  sexless  things 
Weak  of  brain  and  limb  ? 

Beauty  ended,  love  long  past, 
Yet,  when  all  else  flees, 

We  are  women,  for  we  still 
Have  our  memories. 


TO  H1PPOLYTUS 

IT  is  too  late  to  part.     I  dreamed  a  dream 
That  love  had  loosed  me,  that  no  more  your 

name 
Should  vex  my  soul,  for  very  pride  and  shame 

I  hid  you  out  of  mind;  I  said,  The  stream 

Has  grown  too  wide  between  us,  it  would  seem 
To  sunder  even  memory.    Your  fame 
Rang  hollow  on  my  ear,  and  then  you  came 

And  love  laughed  for  the  lie  he  would  redeem. 

It  is  too  late.     Love  will  not  let  me  go. 

The  bare  suns  burn  me,  and  the  strong  winds 

blow; 

I  take  them  fearlessly,  for  I  am  wise 
At  last ;  for  being  yours  I  must  be  brave, 
Tho?  you  give  nothing,  still  am  I  your  slave, 
The  light  within  my  heart  your  eyes,  your 
eyes. 


13 


THE  GARDEN  HEDGE 

I  LIVE  in  a  beautiful  garden, 

All  joyous  with  fountains  and  flowers; 
I  reck  not  of  penance  or  pardon, 

At  ease  thro'  the  exquisite  hours. 

My  blossoms  of  lilies  and  pansies, 

Pale  heliotrope,  rosemary,  rue, 
All  lull  me  with  delicate  fancies 

As  shy  as  the  dawn  and  the  dew. 

But  the  ghost — Gods — the  ghost  in  the 
gloaming, 

How  it  lures  me  with  whispers  and  cries, 
How  it  speaks  of  the  wind  and  the  roaming, 

Free,  free,  'neath  the  Eomany  skies. 

'Tis  the  hedge  that  is  crimson  with  roses, 
All  wonderfully  crimson  and  gold, 

And  caged  in  my  beautiful  closes 
I  know  what  it  is  to  be  old. 


14 


THE  SLAVE 
WOMAN 

HER  eyes  are  dark  with  unknown  deeps, 

Old  woes  and  new  despair, 
Her  shackled  spirit  feels  the  thong 

That  breaks  her  body  bare. 

The  savage  master  of  her  days 
Who  mocks  her  passive  pain, 

How  should  he  know  her  scorn  of  him. 
Indifferent  to  the  stain? 

For  in  her  heart  she  sees  the  glow 

Of  sacrificial  fires, 
A  priestess  of  a  mystic  rite 

Performed  on  nameless  pyres. 

The  incident  of  shame  and  toil 

She  takes  with  idle  breath, 
For  she  remembers  Africa, 

And  what  to  her  is  death? 


15 


SONG 

THE  sky  is  more  blue  than  the  eyes  of  a  boy, 

A  riot  of  roses  entangles  the  year; 
Ah,  come  to  me,  run  to  me,  fill  me  with  joy, 
Dear,  dear,  dear. 

The  air  is  a  passion  of  perfume  and  song, 
The   little   moon   swings   up    above,    look 

above, 

I  cannot  wait  longer,  I've  waited  so  long, 
Love,  love,  love. 


16 


SANS-JOY 

HIDE  your  eyes,  Angels,  beneath  your  gold  phy 
lacteries, 

Israfel  will  charm  you  with  the  magic  of  his 
song: 

Yet  you  will  not  smile  for  him,  by  reason  of 
your  memories, 

For  Lucifer  is  absent,  and  the  cry  goes  up, 
How  long! 

For  his  expiation  you  would  give  your  dreams 
and  destinies, 

Paradise  is  clouded  by  the  measure  of  your 
pain; 

Hide  your  eyes,  Angels,  beneath  your  gold  phy 
lacteries, 

Till  the  jasper  gates  swing  wide  to  bring  him 
home  again. 


17 


OUT  OF  THE 
JUNGLE 

OUT  of  the  jungle  he  came,  he  came, 

Man  of  the  lion's  breed, 
His  heart  was  fire  and  his  eyes  were  flame, 

And  he  piped  on  a  singing  reed. 

Spring  was  sweet  and  keen  in  his  blood, 
Singing,  he  sought  his  mate, 

The  wife  for  the  life  and  time  of  his  mood, 
Formed  for  his  needs  by  fate. 

Over  his  reed  he  piped  and  sang, 
His  eyes  were  the  eyes  of  a  man, 

But  the  jungle  knew  how  his  changes  rang, 
For  his  heart  was  the  heart  of  Pan. 


18 


IN  PORT 

WAVE  buffeted  and  sick  with  storm, 
The  ships  came  reeling  in, 

The  harbour  lights  were  kind  and  warm, 
And  yet,  so  hard  to  win. 

Like  wings,  the  tired  sails  fluttered 

down, 

While  night  began  to  fall, 
Then   came,   sea-scarred,   toward  the 

town, 
The  smallest  ship  of  all. 

At  last  in  harbour,  safe  and  still, 

No  more  she  need  be  brave, 
No  more  she'd  meet  the  winds'  rough 

will, 

The  wanton  of  each  wave. 
19 


IN    PORT 

The  harbour  lights !  but  where  the  moon 
Should  murmur  blessings  bright, 

Clouded  instead  the  dread  typhoon, 
That  thundered  down  the  night. 

What  curse  the  luring  harbour  bore 

Of  false  security; 
The  port  held  desolation  more 

Than  boasted  all  the  sea. 

When  morning  came  with  leering  lip, 
What  death  lay  on  her  breast, 

And  oh!  the  little  weary  ship 
Was  wrecked  with  all  the  rest. 


20 


SOXNY  BOY 

(A  bust  by  IT.  R) 

GRAVE  as  a  little  god,  erect  and  wise, 
He  dares  the  years  that  open  to  his  gaze. 
Brave  in  his  charming  beauty,  he  portrays 

A  bright  eternal  youth,  and  in  his  eyes 

Sweet  moons  that  are  no  more.     No  sad  sur 
prise 

Has  gloomed  the  gay  adventure  of  his  ways, 
And  from  the  flower-lit  meadow  of  the  days 

He  leaps  clean-hearted  to  life's  enterprise. 


SUNRISE 

THERE  was  a  cry  from  the  sky, 

A  cry  at  night; 
It  wakened  the  breeze  in  the  trees 

When  the  moon  was  white ; 

And  I,  only  I, 
Adrift  on  life's  terrible  seas, 

Read  the  cry  aright. 

Pennants  of  gold  were  unrolled, 

They  told  of  sun; 
Night's  pain  with  the  dark  and  the 

rain, 
Was  over  and  done. 

The  travail  of  old 
Had  passed  from  the  mother  again, 
And  the  fight  was  won. 

22 


SUNRISE 

There  was  a  cry  from  the  sky, 

And  my  soul  was  torn 
With  a  passion  divine,  as  of  wine, 

From  the  breast  of  morn; 

For  I,  only  I, 
Knew  the  cry  as  the  signal  and  sign 

That  love  was  born. 


23 


DEAD  LADIES 

THAIS  and  Lalage,  your  eyes  are  closed, 
Phryne,  Aholibah,  your  lips  are  dust. 

Your  tinkling  feet  are  idle  and  composed, 
All  your  gold  beauty  vanished  into  rust. 


Dionysian  mysteries  taught  you  this, 
Since  the  gold   serpent  was  your   seal   and 

sign; 

Tho'  deathless  be  the  imprint  of  your  kiss, 
The  lips  that  redden  are  not  yours,  but  mine. 

How  you  would  scorn  us,  Lalage,  the  lure 
Of  your  mad  moments,  us,  the  motley  crew; 

Yet  shall  your  beauty  only  so  endure 
Imperishable,  that  we  sing  of  you. 


WHEN  TRISTAN" 
SAILED 

WHEN  Tristan  sailed  from  Ireland 

Across  the  summer  sea, 
How  young  he  was,  how  debonnaire, 

How  glad  he  was  and  free. 
Why  should  he  know  the  gales  would 
blow, 

The  skies  be  black  above, 
How  should  he  dream  his  port  was 
Death, 

And  Doom,  whose  name  is  Love? 

The  Lady  Iseult,  sweet  as  prayer, 

We  hardly  dare  to  pray, 
Pearl-pale  beneath  her  shadow  hair, 

Grows  fairer  day  by  day, 

25 


WHEN    TRISTAN    SAILED 

The    ichor    gains    her  -spring-kissed 
veins, 

Her  skies  the  eyes  of  youth. 
How  should  she  dream  the  ichor  Love, 

Was  hellebore  in  truth? 

So  Tristan  sailed  from  Ireland 

As  youth  must  always  sail; 
He  quaffed  the  cup,  nor  asked  the  wine; 

He  dared,  nor  feared  to  fail. 
And  be  it  poison,  be  it  life, 

Or  wrecks  that  strew  the  shore, 
Tristan  set  forth !  nor  ask  the  end, 

Else  youth  shall  sail  no  more. 


THE  BATTLE 

AH,  never,  never,  never!  for  the  flag 
Is  twined  about  my  body,  and  my  back 
Is  braced  against  the  wall !     I  know  the  lack 

Of  crust  and  water,  and  a  man  might  brag 

For  fighting  thus,  yet — how  a  soul  may  lag, 
For. want  of  just  so  little,  when  the  rack 
Of  hopeless  strife  from  dawn  to  bivouac 

Finds  the  foe  now  who  storms  the  utmost  crag. 

Never  surrender!     You  who  storm  my  heart 
Till  I  am  faint  with  love  and  hunger,  all 

Starved  for  your  lips — how  can  I  say  "  depart  "  ? 

And  yet — drag  up  the  sword  again — and  thrust ! 
Ah,  Love,  mine  enemy — I  will  not  fall 

Until  my  honour's  flag  and  I  are  dust. 


BECOMPENSE 

THOSE  who  ask  for  a  star 
Often  receive  but  a  stone, 

Yet  they  asked  for  a  star, 

Does  the  high  thought  not  atone  ? 

I,  who  asked  but  a  stone, 
A  plaything  of  azure  or  red, 

May  I  count  it  for  gain 

That  I  won  a  star  instead? 


THE  LOTUS  EATERS 

WE  have  no  rain,  we  have  no  sun, 
We  only  watch  the  moments  run 

Like  little  adders  thro'  the  leaves, 
Lost  ere  their  flitting  has  begun. 

The  cool  light  airs  that  fan  our  brow, 
What  aromatic  sweets  they  know! 

The  tall  tired  trees  that  make  our  sky 
Are  lapped  in  spices  as  they  bow. 

The  bright-eyed  flowers  that  form  our  bed, 
Like  eager  jewels,  blue  and  red, 

Seem  brimmed  with  gay  immortal  life, 
Yet  we  dream  on  when  they  are  dead. 


29 


LOST  APHEODITE 

THE  gods  upon  the  hills  no  more  are  seen, 
Couched  on  the  virginal  green, 

No  more  their  cry  upon  the  silence  grieves, 
The  shadow  of  dark  leaves. 

The  blazonry  of  Spring  must  now  abate, 

Without  the  purple  state 
Of  Aphrodite,  amorous  and  frail, 

Cinctured  with  lilies  pale. 

She  who  was  love  and  every  man's  desire, 

Now  only  can  inspire, 
The  mutual  love  of  mortals,  and  alone 

Like  wind  her  plaints  are  blown. 

About  the  unregarding  world  her  hands 

Yearn  forth  across  the  lands 
Once  passionate  with  her  lovers,  but  in  vain, 

They  will  not  come  again ! 
30 


LOST    APHRODITE 

She  who  was  Aphrodite,  tho'  she  gives 

Love  to  each  heart  that  lives, 
Gives  and  receives  not.    She,  of  love  the 
breath, 

Doomed  now  with  utter  death. 


31 


THE  FOOLS 

ON  the  wrist  a  paroquet, 

Motley  on  the  shoulder, 
We  exist  for  joy  of  life, 

Never  growing  older. 

Dancing  down  the  lane  of  years, 

Kosy  garlands  trailing, 
Who  would  pause  for  time  or  tears, 

Barren  days  bewailing. 

Brighter  burden  never  were 
Than  the  smiles  we  scatter, 

Loving  deeds  and  laughing  love, 
This  is  our  great  matter. 

And  the  wise  who  scorn  our  bells 

Mate  with  melancholy, 
We  are  wiser  than  the  wise, 

Holding  hands  with  folly. 


THE  AWAKENING 

PERHAPS  the  world  is  tired  of  pageantries, 
And  all  the  weary  women  called  the  Hours, 
Jaded  with  jewels,  shall  exchange  for  flowers 

Their  badge  of  pride.     In  violet  harmonies, 

With  sweet  blue  veils  of  silence  o'er  their  eyes, 
They  shall  return  to  Spring's  most  languor 
ous  bowers; 

And  Light  and  Beauty  shall  come  down  as 
showers 

Releasing  life  from  all  its  pedantries. 

Only  the  bloomy  purple  hill  to  see 

Thro'  half-closed  lids,  and  only  to  be  blind 

With  asphodils!     Shall  these  things  ever  be? 

Surely  the  time  is  ripe  to  live  for  this 

Dawn,  springing  radiant  from  her  sleep  to 

find 
A  world  of  lovers  waiting  for  her  kiss. 


33 


THE  DAEK 
WOMAN 

MY  dark,  wild  woman  of  the  braes, 
I  know  your  heart,  I  know  your  ways, 

I  know  the  raw,  sweet  food  you  taste, 
I  love  the  colours  'round  your  waist. 

Eibbons  of  green  and  gold  you  wear, 
Threaded  about  your  shadowy  hair, 

My  colours — and  your  eyes  are  mine, 
Dark  as  the  deeps  of  love — and  wine. 

I  wake  with  you  at  budding  Dawn, 
Leaving  this  life  of  dew-spread  lawn, 

To  join  your  spirit  in  the  wild, 
Your  brother,  lover,  or  your  child. 

Take  me  upon  your  savage  breast, 

Teach  me  your  calms  and  your  unrest. 

Take  me,  I  know  the  jungle  cry, 
Teach  me  your  love,  or  let  me  die. 


34 


SUMMER    SONG 

MY  heart's  a  yellow  butterfly 
That  flutters  down  the  road; 

A  beggar,  tricksy,  dancing  thing 
That  scorns  a  fixed  abode. 

The  aigrette  of  the  thistle  bloom 
Becomes  the  swinging  sign 

Of  merry  hostelries,  where  I 
May  pause  awhile  and  dine. 

The  sky  is  lapis  lazuli 

Bestrewn  by  clouds  of  pearl, — 
Who  would  not  be  a  butterfly 

Instead  of  just  a  girl? 


SEKAPHIS 

HE  tasted  dragon's  blood 
From  the  dark  dragon  tree, 

In  those  far  islands  where  the  mood 
Is  faery-like  and  free. 

With  cinnamon  and  nard 

His  strange  gay  clothes  were  sweet, 
His  lips  were  fanciful  with  fard, 

Eed  flames  played  'round  his  feet. 

Sharp  dancing  pointed  flames, 

Detached  as  butterflies, 
He  called  them  all  by  secret  names, 

They  were  his  ecstasies. 

No  love,  no  maiden  bright 

Might  woo  him  from  his  swoon, 

For  he  had  tasted  strange  delight 
In  lands  beyond  the  moon. 


36 


VENGEMENT 

WHAT  was  his  offense  to  you, 

You  who  sit  thro'  dreamless  days. 

Sifting  thro'  your  fingers  slim 
Ashes  in  a  porphyry  vase? 

Hatred  makes  your  eyes  grow  hard, 
As  you  conjure  forth  his  name 

From  the  dust  that  was  his  face, 
From  the  heart  that  was  his  flame. 

Then  ghe,  lifting  heavy  eyes, 

Spoke :    "  When  this  man  walked 
the  world 

Him  I  loved,  he  loved  not  me; 
So  his  days  to  death  I  hurled. 

"  Dying,  then,  he  touched  my  hand, 

Smiled  and  whispered,  '  I  forgive  ' ; 
This  his  vengeance  on  my  soul, 
I  must  hate  him  while  I  live." 
37 


AUTUMN  LOVE 
I 

ONCE  I  could  love  this  season  of  the  year, 
And  watch  the  calm  and  delicate  decline 
Of  Summer  gladly ;  I  could  see  the  pine 

Deep  green  on  bluest  sky,  and  laugh  for  cheer 
Of  very  living.     Yet  I'd  fain  appear 
Th'  unhurried  gourmet,  tasting  of  my  wine, 
Lingering  o'er  memories  of  the  purpled  vine, 

Loath  for  each  passing  moment.    Ah,  my  dear, 

Now  like  a  careless  child,  I  toss  the  hours 
Over  my  shoulder,  I  forget  the  sun, 

The  dewy  dawn,  the  white  moon  and  the  flowers. 

Like  a  tired  pilgrim  with  his  goal  in  view, 
Looking  not  right  nor  left,  I  run,  I  run 

To  that  bright  day  of  days  that  brings  me  you. 


38 


AUTUMN  LOVE 
II 

I  feel  as  murderers  feel,  who,  having  slain 
Their  love,  laugh  with  red  hands  and  do  not 

care. 
I  took  sweet  Summer  by  her  lovely  hair, 

Bent  her  white  throat,  and  gladly  saw  the  stain 

Crimson  her  green  leaf-gown  of  hill  and  plain. 
I  would  not  wait  for  her  last  kiss,  nor  spare 
One  splendid  flying  hour,  for  chill  and  fair 

Autumn,  my  love,  comes  near  me  thro'  the 
rain. 

Pale  with  mysterious  wonder,  her  deep  eyes 
Are  wells  of  wisdom;  fugitive,  astray 

From  a  blue  land  that  dreams  beyond  the  skies. 

'Tis  done.  I  lay  young  Summer  on  her  pyre, 
And  turning,  burn  thro'  distance  to  the  day 

That  brings  me  to  the  lips  of  my  desire. 

39 


THE  WITCH 

WHENCE  came  the  fire  in  her  eyes,  eyes  of  a 

beast  in  the  jungle, 
Desperate,  golden  and  green,  wild  as  a  river 

in  spate? 
Her  long  lithe  limbs  were  brown,  and  she  took 

the  world  as  a  leopard, 
Grave,   disdainful  and  strong,  takes  of  his 
prey  without  hate. 

Glamourie  slept  in  her  eyes,  terribly  calm  in 

the  tumult, 
Hidden  and  secret  and  sweet  was  the  smile 

of  her  crimson  mouth. 
A  marigold  wound  in  her  hair,  she  swayed  like 

wind  in  the  desert, 

Burning  and  thrilling  to  thirst  the  hearts 
that  dream  of  the  South. 

40 


THE    WITCH 

Whence  came  the  fire  in  her  eyes?     I,  only  I, 

knew  the  secret, 
The  thing  that  hung  on  her  breast,  hid  by 

her  stormy  hair, 
Amber  drops  on  a  string,  her  talisman,  witches' 

amber, 

Golden,  yellow  and  brown,  that  only  a  witch 
may  wear. 


41 


THE  MAN 

THE  flame  is  spent,  I  can  no  more 
Hold  the  tall  candle  by  your  door. 
Too  often  have  I  watched  to  see 
Your  lagging  steps  come  home  to  me. 

The  Tyrian  traders  taught  me  this. 
They  came,  perfumed  with  ambergris, 
With  amethystine  robes,  and  hair 
Curled  by  the  kisses  of  salt  air. 

They  mocked  ine  for  my  weary  hands, 
Holding  your  light  as  love  demands, 
They  sang  the  lure  of  poppied  sleep, 
Their  lips  were  warm,  their  eyes  were 
deep. 

The  flame  is  spent!    Your  pale  weak  face 
Must  seek  another  resting  place. 
Win  me,  and  hold  me  now  who  can ! 
The  Tyrian  trader  was  a  man! 

42 


DOWN  IN" 
MALDONADO  TOWN 

THERE'S  a  town  called  Maldonado, 
That's  the  place  where  I  would  be ; 

There's  a  girl  in  Maldonado, 
And  she  gave  her  heart  to  me. 

Starved  with  sixty  days  of  sailing, 
How  we  swaggered  to  the  shore, 

Hands  in  pockets,  eyes  cocked  sideways, 
At  the  girl  in  every  door. 

Sweet  they  fluttered  to  our  shoulders, 
She,  my  girl,  the  fairest  girl, 

And  I  took  her  for  a  plaything, 
Face  of  flower  and  heart  of  pearl. 

Round  my  neck  she  clung  and  pleaded, 

But  I  told  her  to  be  wise ; 
Said  no  sailor  could  be  faithful, 

And  his  love  was  ever  lies. 
43 


DOWN     IN    MALDONADO    TOWN 

Then  she  turned  and  left  me  silent, 
Stepping  weary,  stepping  slow; 

Merry  was  I  to  have  won  her, 
And  I  laughed  to  see  her  go. 

Now  'tis  done — I  have  lost  her, 
Seas  between  us  thunder  wide, 

"  Dear,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  forget  you," 
And  God  knows  that  I  have  lied ! 

Many  girls  have  smiled  upon  me. 

Up  and  down  the  Northern  coast, 
But  their  kisses  only  taunt  me 

With  the  kiss  that  I  have  lost. 

Oh!    You're  killing  me  by  inches, 
Velvet  lips  and  eyes  of  brown, 

For  it's  love  I  left  behind  me, 
Down  in  Maldonado  town. 


44 


THE  CHOICE 

THE  long  well  rose  above  me,  a  slim  shaft, 
With  wet,  black  walls,  and  high  aloft  the 

light 
Round  as  a  moon  intensified  my  night. 

I  ate  the  air  and  bitterly  I  quaffed 

The  death  damp ;  nor  my  pleading  nor  my  craft 
Availed  to  aid  me  in  my  desperate  plight : 
The  vista  of  high  heaven  the  only  sight 

To  see,  and  at  my  woe  high  heaven  had  laughed. 

Suddenly  the  darkness  deepened,  and  a  face 

Gloomed  on  the  opening,  terrible  and  grim 
An  Afreet !    In  his  hands  he  held  disgrace 
And  direst  poverty  and  ruinous  strife. 

"  Choose    now    between,"    he    cried,    "  calm 

Death  by  him 

And    Life    empoisoned,"   yet    I    cried,    "  Give 
Life." 


45 


THE  BKOOK 

I  HAVE  a  little  brook  in  the  deeps  of  my  heart. 
What  does  it  matter  if  the  day  be  chill  or 

clear, 
Coloured  like  a  tourmaline  and  winged  like  a 

dart, 

Voiced  like  a  nightingale,  it  sings  all  the 
year. 

Small  bright  herbs  on  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
Moon-pale  primroses,  and  tapestries  of  fern, 

This  is  the  reality  and  life  is  just  a  dream, 
Iridescent  bubble  that  the  moon  tides  turn. 


46 


AT  THE  END 
OF  THE  WOELD 

To  the  world's  end,  to  the  world's  end, 

Did  I  wander  seeking  you, 
And  wide  was  the  water  and  dark  was  the  fell, 
With  Time  at  my  heels  like  a  hound  of  hell, 

And  the  worst  still  left  to  do. 

To  the  world's  end,  to  the  world's  end, 

And  the  void  to  verify. 
They  told  me  of  a  tale  of  love  supreme. 
"  Sometimes,"    I    cried,    "  I   have   caught   the 

gleam, 
I  shall  seek  it  tho'  I  die." 

At  the  world's  end,  at  the  world's  end, 

At  the  end  of  the  endless  mile, 
Nothing  to  see  but  the  silent  snow— 
I  turned  with  my  tears  to  your  heart,  and  lo! 
Love  was  with  me  all  the  while! 
47 


THE  GYPSY 

0,  she  was  most  precious,  as  the  wind's  self  was 

fair. 
What  did  I  give  her  when  I  had  her  on  my 

knee? 
Red  kisses  for  her  coral  lips,  and  a  red  comb 

for  her  hair. 

She  took  my  gifts,  she  took  my  heart,  and 
fled  away  from  me. 

0,  but  she  was  fanciful,  she  found  a  savage 

mate, 
He  scorned  her,  he  spurned  her,  he  drove  her 

from  his  door; 
She  cuddled  in  his  inglenook  and  laughed  at 

all  his  hate, 

She  took  his  curses,  took  his  blows,  and  never 
left  him  more. 


48 


BOY  0'  DREAMS 

MUST  I  leave  you  in  the  mountains, 

Boy  o?  dreams, 
Must  I  leave  you  where  the  fountains 

Toss  the  silver  of  their  streams, 
Where  the  trees  are  clothed  in  samite, 

And  the  little  broken  moon 
Is  a  symbol  and  an  answer, 

Like  the  reading  of  a  rune? 

May  I  take  you  to  the  city, 

Boy  o'  dreams, 
Where  your  heart  will  break  with  pity 

At  the  lethargy  that  seems 
Only  half  alive  to  living, 

Only  enemy  to  mirth, 
Where  the  dusty  facts  will  blind  you 

To  the  fancies  of  the  earth? 

49 


BOY    0'    DREAMS 

I  must  take  you — but  I'll  keep  you, 

Boy  o'  dreams, 
Where  no  alien  winds  shall  sweep  you, 

In  a  secret  place  that  gleams, 
With  the  light  of  your  own  laughter, 

Yours  the  vessel,  yours  the  chart, 
And  we'll  brave  the  storm  together. 

You,  the  captain  of  my  heart. 


50 


BALLAD    OF 
THE    SLAVE 

THE  helot  got  him  a  hempen  cord, 

A  slave  of  love  was  he, 
"  She  made  me  dance  to  her  circumstance — 

In  the  air  one  dances  free ! " 

She  sits  on  a  throne  of  ivory 

Serene  in  her  silver  gown, 
"  Ah,  woe/'  he  cried,  "  but  the  world  is  wide, 

But  'tis  straight  where  I  lie  down. 

"  She  mocked,  she  scorned,  and  she  hated  me, 

She  shall  pity  me  not,"  he  said ; 
"  Too  late  for  the  nether  way  of  hate, 

I  may  flout  her  when  I'm  dead." 

Out  in  the  dark  of  the  moonless  sky, 
The  rope  was  round  his  neck, 

51 


BALLAD    OF    THE    SLAVE 

"'Tis  the  torque  of  gold  from  her  throat  so 

cold, 
Why  should  I  rue  or  reck  ?  " 

Tighter  tangled  the  hempen  cord; 

"?Tis  her  fingers  hot  with  fire, 
In  a  tempest  of  fear  she  draws  me  near, — 

Now  dying  is  not  so  dire !  " 

Black,  more  black  grew  the  empty  void, 

"  And  I  but  a  broken  reed, 
For  there's  only  her  face  in  this  grisly  place  "- 

But  his  love  stood  there  indeed! 

Close  to  her  heart  she  took  his  head, 
And  she  kissed  him  back  to  breath, 

"  You  are  mine  by  right  of  that  line  of  white, 
You  are  mine — by  Life  and  Death !  " 


FOAM 

I   have   dallied   with   wantons,   made   mad   by 

their  passionate  wine, 
Time,  like  a  golden  ball,  I  have  tossed  to  the 

wastes  of  the  air. 
I  have  whispered  with  Beauty,  whose  song  has 

been  sister  to  mine, 
Laughed  with  the  long  late  hours  who  lie  with 

the  stars  in  their  hair. 

Like  the  spume  on  the  crest  of  the  wave  blow 
ing  back  to  the  sea, 

Cast  from  the  depths  beneath,  now  to  riot  and 
dance  in  the  light, 

I  have  flung  you  the  foam  of  my  heart,  to  be 
mask  unto  me, 

Caught  to  my  heart  again  from  the  doom  of 
your  fugitive  sight. 


53 


THE  SEAL 

THE  document  of  day  is  folded  down, 

Night,  the  great  lawyer,  takes  the  waiting 
sheet, 

And  o'er  the  murky  shadows  of  the  town 

Sets  his  red  seal,  to  make  the  deed  complete. 


RELEASE 

T  ASKED  to  be  released,  I  did  not  know 
'Twas  hate,  not  love;  that  would  not  let  me  go. 
Vengeance  had  burned  your  image  on  my  mind, 
I  gazed  and  gazed  until  my  eyes  were  blind. 
Now — neither  pride  nor  love  has  set  me  free, 
But  happy  chance — in  wonderful  degree. 

Shackled  by  memory,  a  prey  to  fear, 
Once  you  were  mine  by  the  black  load  I  bore> 
But  now,  released,  I  lose  you — 0  my  Dear, 
Ever,  irrevocably  mine  no  more ! 


55 


SIN,  THE  SWORD 

SIN  was  a  terrible  and  ruddy  sword, 
My  hands  were  only  lilies,  only  made 
To  lay  against  his  lips,  and  so  I  prayed 

Another  weapon.     Willingly  I  poured 

On  his  strong  heart  the  gifts  that  could  accord 
With  my  life's  fact,  but  Ah!  the  gifts  were 

weighed 
And  all  found  wanting — and  I  was  afraid 

Of  love  which  was  so  dreadfully  my  lord. 

He  showed  me  the  magnificence,  the  height 
To  be  attained  for  those  who  dare  to  seek, 

For  those  who  dare  the  wonder  and  delight. 

I  might  attain — I  might — but  if  I  should ! — 
I  was  afraid,  my  fainting  heart  was  weak, 

And  so,  Love  help  me,  I  was  only — good ! 


56 


FANTASTIC 
SPRING 

WEAR  a  lure  fantastical, 
Farthingales  of  Spring, 

Till  the  out-worn  city  hearts 
Dance  for  you  and  sing. 

Lime  us  with  grotesque  desires, 
Warm  with  green  and  gold; 

Apathetic  we  have  grown, 
Tired  and  hard  and  old. 

Draw  us  gently  to  your  truth, 
Calm  our  hopes  and  fears; 

Till  at  last  the  grass  blades  speak 
To  attentive  ears. 


SONG 

WE  only  ask  for  sunshine, 
We  did  not  want  the  rain; 

But  see  the  flowers  that  spring 

from  showers 
All  up  and  down  the  plain. 

We  beg  the  gods  for  laughter, 
We  shrink,  we  dread  the  tears; 

But  griefs  redress  is  happiness, 
Alternate  through  the  years. 


58 


CONTKAST 

STEADY  stand  the  ilex  trees, 
All  the  leaves  are  still, 

Motionless  the  opal  haze 
Drowses  on  the  hill. 

There  a  marble  statue  waits 
Patient  of  the  hours, 

Einged  about  with  silent  sun 
Over  dreamy  flowers. 

Nature  mirrors  perfect  peace, 
Eound  me  everywhere, 

Only  in  my  heart  is  found 
Torment  and  despair. 


59 


THE  PRICE 

WE  are  so  tired  of  merely  being  human, 
Loving  or  loved,  the  sweet  imperfect  woman. 
Masters,   you  know  not  what  your  lips  have 

missed, 
On  the  rose  mouths  you  keep  but  to  be  kissed. 

We  are  Astarte,  we  are  Lilith,  we 

Know  the  blue  veils  which  you  have  named  the 

sea 

Cover  the  eyes  of  Isis;  that  the  sky 
Is  the  white  body  of  Keith,  arched  so  on  high. 

Ours  is  a  secret  language,  when  we  smile, 
Dreams  are  denied  at  birth,  all  to  beguile 
Your  earthy  substance.    Ah,  at  what  fell  cost 
We  pay  you,  so  our  heritage  is  lost. 


60 


THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER 

SHE  was  the  fairest  of  the  King's  fair  daugh 
ters, 

Gold  and  rubies  glittered  on  her  hands; 
Her  voice  was  the  lilting  of  a  rain  of  silver 

waters, 
And  her  lovers  were  as  endless  as  her  lands. 

Down  thro'  the  birch  wood  with  her  maidens 

all  about  her, 

So  virginal  she  came  with  dainty  tread, 
At  my  eyes  she  was  silent, — could  a  gypsy  turn 

and  flout  her: 

Love  I  looked  and  love  I  spoke,  till  white 
grew  red. 

Free  she  was  as  fair,  she  forgot  her  father's 

palace, 

Left  her  lands  to  wander  at  my  side; 
She  is  crowned  with  forest  leaves,  with  my  two 

curved  hands  for  chalice: 
Spring  and  love  must  bring  a  gypsy  to  his 
bride. 

61 


LAIS 

You  are  white  as  the  moths  of  Twilight, 
You  are  secret  as  mist  and  dew, 

And  your  down-dropped  eyes 

Are  eternally  wise, 
Strange  sins  have  wrought  their  hue. 

Mother  of  men  and  women, 

They  are  ghosts,  not  men  you  have  bred ; 

In  infinite  scorn 

Their  bodies  were  born 
While  their  souls  were  worse  than  dead. 

We  are  what  your  lips  have  made  us, 
Empty,  and  bitterly  old; 
Our  faith  has  lied, 
Oh,  barren  bride, 
And  the  fires  of  the  world  are  cold. 


THE  HERITAGE 

How  shall  the  present  verify  the  past? 

Like  flames  we  strove,  still  onward,  upward 

rising, 
Spurning  the  singing  continents — at  last, 

Wrecked  on  this  fatal  day  of  our  devising. 

Nurtured  by  lunar  rainbows,  chill  and  sweet, 

Our  fancy  was  a  gossamer  of  beauty ; 
Now  like  a  web  it  drags  about  our  feet, 

Named  with  the  symbols  drear  of  fact  and 
duty. 

AVe  who  were  heirs  to  Egypt,  India's  child, 
Suckled  by  Greece,  and  cradled  by  Cathay, 

How  tacitly  we  waive  this  breeding  wild, 
Deny  our  parents  in  our  deeds  to-day. 

Let  us  awake — obedient  to  our  dreams, 

Let  us  embrace  huge  issues,  comprehending 
The     scheme     entire — Great     Beauty's    birth, 

which  seems 

The  glorious  urge  for  life,  unchecked,  un 
ending. 

G3 


THE  MONK  IN 
HIS    GARDEN 

THE  air  is  heavy  with  a  mist  of  spice, 
Vervain  and  agrimony,  clove  and  rue, 

Have  I  not  paid,  have  I  not  paid  the  price? 
How  shall  these  tempters  torture  me  anew? 

I  close  my  eyes  and  dream  the  incense  drifts 
Over  the  monstrance,  and  the  acolyte 

Swings  the  gold  censer.  Then  the  vision  lifts : 
I  know  the  poisonous  joys  I  have  to  fight. 

Day  with  its  flowers  and  yellow  butterflies, 
Holds  for  my  heart  no  pain,  the  wind  is  free 

That  blows  upon  my  garden  from  far  skies, 
Yet  may  I  hold  it  in  white  chastity. 

But  night ! — and  the  still  air ! — Ah,  God  above, 
Have  I  the  strength  to  wage  thy  war  anew? 

Blot  out  my  senses  or  I  die  for  love, — 
Vervain  and  agrimony,  clove  and  rue! 
64 


BIANCA 

THE  orchard  apples  hung  above, 

Golden  and  red  and  green, 
Her  face  beneath  was  ripe  for  love. 

Cat-eyed  with  sparks  between. 

Simples  she  came  to  gather  there 

With  hands  of  ivory; 
Gold  fillets  bound  her  golden  hair; 

Her  gown  was  cramosie. 

She  plucked  the  herbs  with  subtle  grace, 

Derisive  in  her  deed. 
Was  there  no  Prince  to  read  her  face, 

No  Prince  with  Beauty's  need? 

Her  hands  with  cassia  buds  were  sweet: 
"  Come,  love,"  her  young  heart  cried, 

The  Prince  with  delicate  swift  feet, 
Was  even  at  her  side ! 

Her  tamed  white  leopard  leaped  in  fear, 

Love  beckons  love  so  soon. 
They  gathered  no  more  simples  there, 

The  long  late  afternoon. 
65 


FKEE 

BEYOND  the  hill  the  hearth  fires  burn, 

A  hundred  flags  in  air, 
But  one  which  tossed  but  yesterday 

Is  dead,  one  hearth  is  bare. 

The  wife  whose  fingers  fed  the  fire 

Grew  weary  of  the  play, 
A  lad  laughed  thro'  the  open  door 

And  stole  my  dear  away. 

And  now  alone  I  face  the  road; 

No  hearth,  no  home  for  me. 
And  yet — Ah  Life ! — come  sun,  come  rain, 

My  beggar  soul  is  free. 


66 


BLACK  AND  GOLD 

ROUND  her  knees  her  lovers  yearned, 
She  who  sat  in  black  and  gold, 

What  recked  she  who  begged  or  burned, 
Sister  to  the  gods  of  old. 

Darkness  was  her  pedigree, 
Light  her  ever  living  flame, 

Lovers  die  for  such  as  she, 

Paying  for  her  smiles  with  shame. 

Eound  her  head  the  music  floats, 
Black  by  night  and  gold  by  day; 

These  are  Time's  inchoate  notes, 
Calling,  "  Sister,  come  away." 

Bride  of  eager-blooded  gods, 
Wife  to  man's  primeval  age, 

What  to  her  shall  serve  these  clods 
Save  to  irk  her  pilgrimage? 
67 


THE    ANSWER 

THE  themes  of  women !    Mounting  up  the  sky, 
Beating  the  air  with  tremulous  weak  wings, 

Plow  shall  so  small  a  matter  win  so  high, 
The  vain  sweet  goal  of  their  imaginings  ? 

Striving  for  Beauty,  dark  philosophy, 

Or  the  obscure  and  purple  deeps  of  truth, 

How  shall  they  know  their  one  great  verity, 
The  answer  to  their  queries  and  their  youth? 

Simple  vain  themes  of  women !    Only  this 
One   theme   may   lift  their  wings   to   goals 
above, — 

To  spill  their  hearts  out  blindly  in  a  kiss, 
An  infinite  surrendering  to  love. 


68 


PEACE 


NIGHT  thundered  down  the  valley 
From  off  the  rocky  steeps, 

Like  wind  it  broke  the  silences 
That  light  divinely  keeps. 

As  low  dark  clouds  concealing 
The  things  one  dare  not  see, 

So  grimly  dark  and  ominous 
Hung  low  each  shadowy  tree. 

Night,  the  dread  terror-master, 
What  wordless  woe  he  weaves! 

Suddenly  peace,  and  all  the  air 
Is  scented  with  green  leaves. 


69 


BARNABAS 

THEY  all  are  dead  but  Barnabas ;  he'll  wait, 
With  his  old  groping  hands  and  haggard  eyes, 
Which  nothing  in  the  world  can  now  surprise, 

Till  the  last  leaf  whirls  thro'  the  clanging  gate 

Of  the  last  sunrise.    Did  he  learn  too  late  ? 
Maybe,  that  one  may  hear  the  moans  and  cries 
That  ring  by  night,  and  yet  be  calm  and  wise. 

And  teach  the  women  how  a  man  can  hate ! 

I  did  not  think  a  soul  could  live  so  long, 
And  be  so  little.     He  remembers  youth 

With  a  wry  smile  of  disbelief;  the  wrong 
Was  this,  he  squeezed  the  fruit  so  dry 

So  long  ago ;  and  now  must  live,  forsooth 
Because  a  woman  will  not  let  him  die. 


70 


LOST  DREAMS 

COMING  thro'  the  porch  of  dreams 

To  the  portal  of  the  day, 
Vacant  all  the  ether  seems 

With  a  grief  that  leaves  her  grey. 

In  a  threnody  of  sighs, 

With  the  cloud  wreaths  'round  her  face, 
Morning  veils  her  heavy  eyes, 

Weeping  for  her  vanished  grace. 

Ah !  in  gaining  lusty  Dawn, 

Life,  and  pleasant  facts  of  light, 

Why  must  we,  the  darkness  gone, 

Lose  the  dreams  that  haunt  the  night? 


LADY    OF    LIGHT 

LIGHT  of  the  World,  what  are  violets  but  eyes  of 

you, 
Perfume,    your    hair   blowing   back    on   the 

breeze, 

Ah,  but  the  fugitive  dainty  surprise  of  you, 
Pricking  in  green  on  the  blossomy  trees. 

Give  me  the  sun  of  your  smile  to  be  fire  to  me, 
Give  me  the  moon  when  the  passion  is  gone, 

Give  me  the  light  to  be  dream  and  desire  to  me 
Down  the  dark  alleys  that  lead  to  the  dawn. 


SONG 

You  arc  the  dawning  of  dreams. 

You  are  the  end  of  desire. 
You  are  the  gladness  and  glory  that  seems 

Dauntless,  to  urge  and  aspire. 

Cradle  my  soul  on  your  wings, 

Cradle  my  head  on  your  breast. 
Teach  me  the  ardour  that  conque'rs  and  sings. 

Grant  me  your  infinite  rest. 


73 


THE  GYPSY  BLOOD 

BECAUSE  the  lover  cares  for  daffodils 

Must  we  be  stranger  to  the  passion  flower, 
Or  slight  the  iris,  dewy  from  a  shower  ? 

The  gypsy  heather  bloom  upon  the  hill 

Strikes  fiercely  on  a  gypsy  heart,  and  thrills 
New  argosies  of  dreams  to  sail  the  hours. 
No  rosy  perfume  blown  from  garden  bowers 

May  bear  the  subtle  perfume  this  distills. 

Must  we  forego  the  dreamy  twilight  stars 
Because  the  true-love  lives  for  morning  sun? 

Love  dare  not  hold  the  sense  behind  such  bars. 

The  moon  drips  scented  petals  on  our  hair, 
And  gypsy  hearts  to  gypsy  flowers  must  run 

While  life  is  everything,  tho'  love  be  fair. 


AND  YET 

INADEQUATE  and  void,  the  days 
Are  not  more  tired  than  tears; 

And  yet,  how  long,  how  long  the  ways, 
Down  the  bare  lane  of  years. 

The  bird  that  flutters  from  the  nest 
Is  fused  of  fire  and  spring, 

And  yet  how  soon  the  throbbing  breast 
Will  lose  the  life  to  sing. 

How  long  the  lane,  how  soon  'tis  past, 
Rough  road,  dark  sky  above, 

And  yet,  dear  heart,  there's  home  at  last, 
With  light,  and  life,  and  love ! 


75 


THRO'  THE 
PLEACHED  ALLEYS 

THRO'  the  pleached  alley  in  my  garden  of  the 
Spring 

Merry  leaves  tossed  over  me  with  elfish  whisper 
ing. 

I  was  not  alone,  alone,  for  Love  with  blowing 
hair 

Touched  my  hands  and  touched  my  heart,  danc 
ing  everywhere. 

Darting  round  about  my  steps,  as  a  swallow 

slips, 
How  she  laughed  and  laughed  at  me,  with  little 

rosy  lips, 
Ghostly  wise  she  kissed  my  eyes,  her  mouth  was 

chill  as  snow, 
For  she  had  died,  my  Love  had  died,  so  very 

long  ago. 

76 


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